Dragon Knights Dawn of War Part I
by Dhark
Summary: Taking place on a continent other than Ansalon, this story is the first in a series to chronicle a war between good and evil. Please RR, feedback is always welcomed.
1. Chapter 1

Forward from the Author

The world of 'Dragonknights' is set within Krynn, only rather than taking place on the continent of Ansalon like the main story line does, I've placed my story elsewhere, far away from Raistlin and the likes. While I will claim no creative ownership of Krynn, Ansalon, or other references to the wonderful world created by Margaret Weiss, Tracy Hickman, and Don Perin (and other authors therein), I do take pride in having set my story apart within a realm of my own. I encourage others to, if they so wish, make use of the world in the story that follows, but if you do so, or use characters from my own storyline, please take the courtesy to give credit where it is due, whether it be to WOTC, or even little ol' me.

Dragonknights is a series of stories that I have worked on for far too long, now. The original was a handwritten book that told about the second birth of Armageddon, a creation of Thakisis in the form of a dragon, one who was capable of bringing about a massive wave of death and annihilation. His companion, Vertigo, and a group of dragons that were brought about by Paladine to counter this threat. The main identifiers were their command over certain aspects of nature and reality. Fire, wind, water, ice, earth, chaos, death, the psyche, and space. I've started transferring the story to a typed format, more than six years after its initial writing, but its relevance to the Dragonknights storyline is minimal at best.

The main focus is after the fall of Vertigo and the 'Guardians'. Armageddon still retains what power remains, but due to his underlying desire for revenge is wont to unleash extinction on a world. Spectre, the chaos dragon who is referred to within this story, is not so much a master of creating chaos, but more chaotic and apt to act irrationally and on a whim.

I'll not go much further into things than this, as really I am just wanting to clarify a few things, as well as post the disclaimer that is in the opening paragraph of the Forward. Enjoy the story, and if you truly wish to read anything further (before the rewrite, too, might I add) the third installment which was the first to go down on a word-processor, is up on this site. It will, though, be pulled in due time, revamped, and rewritten to flow more in tune with the rest of the series.

So, with that said, enjoy the read. I look forward to finally getting back into the swing of things. I have a wonderful stay in Kuwait to thank, as well as Kuwait's pointed lack of things to do (unless you enjoy building sand castles), for the time and opportunity to get back to a series that I thoroughly enjoyed brainstorming and putting together.

Sincerely,

M. Vazquez, AN

United States Navy.

Prologue

Armageddon

Armageddon, a dark and evil dragon who, in the past, wished for the utter destruction of the world was defeated and sealed away inside the bowels of a mountain tomb. For two-thousand years he lay in wait, biding his time until Vertigo, a blood-hungry beast and his own mate, freed him. Two thousand years after almost annihilating life entirely, the dark dragon lord was unleashed upon the world.

A band of dragons, imbued with powerful skills by the gods, and a handful of human warriors allied with one another and used their skills to assault and try to stop Armageddon before he could repeat his original goal. However, the combined might of both Vertigo and Armageddon proved too much, and though Vertigo was slain, the allied heroes failed. In the end, their bodies were burned at Vertigo's funeral pyre as a sacrifice of appeasement in her honor.

Virtually unopposed, Armageddon was now free to do as he had originally wished to do during his first reign of terror. However, two thousand years in a tomb had given him a chance to revise his goals and plans. Now, rather than destruction, he sought domination. Using his skills and influence, he massed an army of men loyal to his own corrupted will and bolstered their ranks with minions and creatures wrought of the dark magic of his Queen, Thakisis.

Nations of light began to stand against the armies one by one, and one by one they were brought down and torn asunder. As the threat grew, alliances were formed and a coalition was formed by the remaining nations to combat the dark forces. The entire continent, along with the outlying island nations, was consumed by war.

Part I

Dawn of a Curse

Chapter I

It is the curse, or gift, of all beings that live on the earth to find a purpose in life. Embedded within the consciousness is a want, desire, and drive that urges a person, or beast, onward in the hopes that fulfillment will come through achievement, success, gain, or even thrills and testing physical and emotional limits.

For Armageddon, though, the hunger that drove his life further was destruction. Satisfaction came from the firelight that glinted in his eyes as he watched a village burn, or the fear that was frozen in the eyes of someone dying slowly under his teeth and claws. Death and destruction were an art, to him, and something that he had perfected to a very large degree over the thousands of years he had existed in the world. He had, once, brought life to its knees, threatened it in a chokehold and near annihilated everything until he had been stopped, imprisoned, confined….

But he knew that back then, the Armageddon that rode the skies with Vertigo at his side, blanketing the lands with death and carnage, that dragon was dead. Maturity, in a sense, had set in. A quick, painful death for the world was something that an impatient, ungrateful creature would do. A swift death, a splash of blood, and then nothingness. That sort of fate was far too unsatisfying, and far too good for a world that was responsible for the death of his trusted mate. No, just as Vertigo had a slow, agonizing death at the claws of a now deceased dragon, this world would suffer and pay the price. Destruction, death, and mayhem all had new meaning, grouped under the name of Revenge, and Revenge would come in a just, fitting manner, borne on the wings of the black dragon of destruction.

Armageddon could only chuckle to himself as he thought over his dreams and ambitions, watching a world crumble under his might, and then wither away slowly under his rule and discretion. Thakisis had been kind in allowing his army to grow exponentially. Already, the swarms of corrupt humans, orcs, and other unpleasantries born of magic and darkness alike were sweeping across the forested mountain ranges that littered the Northern Mirkilains. It would take a while, but the inevitable outcome was a total rule of both the North and South Mirkilains, the plainlands of Saito, the mine-littered underground M'alketh, and then on to the self-proclaimed 'Kingdom of Light', Falacci. Falacci alone provided the best access to raid the island nation of Rhy'Din, and once Rhy'Din collapsed, the continent would be his. A platform from where he could turn his eyes onto the rest of the world and, guided by Thakisis, destroy the far off lands of Ansalon and beyond. Krynn would collapse, and then rot away slowly into nothingness.

First, though, was carving across the continent and destroying Falacci. Paladine, the cursed god that he was, looked far too favorably upon the ruling family in that kingdom. While Thakisis' granted him a large army of her design, including a fair number of 'her children', fellow dark and twisted dragons like himself only less powerful, Paladine had done the same for Falacci, and there was a strong dragon-mounted cavalry that was causing its own fair share of problems and hindering the advancing wave of darkness.

The Dragonlord snorted softly, letting the dreams of the end-game fade as his eyes opened. The Citadel was near fully repaired, the most unfortunate setback coming after the fight that left Vertigo dead. The group of dragons that had stood against him did their fair share of damage to the structure, turning the lower catacombs into the tomb that now held his mate. All but one of them had died, though. If not while trying to bring Vertigo down, then afterwards when Armageddon's own rage overwhelmed them. The only survivor from their group was now an honorary member of the advancing wing of dragons that was dominating the skies to the west, a case of ambition and hunger for power overcoming trivial loyalties to the frail division between what was deemed 'Good' and 'Evil'. There was also the small detail that he was from the same bloodline as Vertigo. Family ties were always such a rich and wonderful thing when they played out right.

Stretching his wings, Armageddon took a few moments to revel at the dark and twisted art that adorned the domed ceiling of his Citadel. Depictions of death, Thakisis' children, and all focusing inward on the image of the Queen haloed by the dark moon Nuitari. It was a haven, a sanctuary where he could seek the council of his master without the bothersome troubles that lay outside the door, where his army eagerly awaited to share triumphs, or an unfortunate scout trembled in wait as the bearer of bad news. The scouts, though, never had much to fear. Armageddon knew better than to vent rage on the unfortunate messenger. Usually, he reassigned them to other battalions and brigades where they wouldn't fall victim to some egotistical and overly proud General. That was a hard thing to find, though. Most of the generals within the army were less than trustworthy, and constantly under watch by Armageddon's own hand-picked spies. A few of his leaders, though, were like black diamonds. Their value on the battlefield was unequaled thanks to the trust they could garner from the Dragonlord. They knew their place, and performed as they should.

The Citadel doors opened into the cloister that made up the entrance into the Citadel itself. He cut his way through the cloister, past the statues dedicated to himself and Thakisis, as well as a shrine dedicated to Vertigo with torches that would burn forever. Sunlight never reached the valley's floor, there was always a thick layer of smoke from numerous fires and, perhaps even a fair bit of sorcery, that saw to the constant darkness. Still, on nights like tonight, when Nuitari was in its full phase, the clouds parted to allow the black moon's light to grace the grounds. It was always a warming and welcome sight, comforting in a way. Armageddon chuckled softly to himself as he envisioned him wearing the moonlight like some lowly child might wear a warm blanket.

"M'lord, good evening."

A rather thin, wiry black dragon more slithered than walked up to greet his Commander, wings spreading in a faint bow and salute.

"Ah, always a pleasure to see one of my more reliable scouts," Armageddon returned the slight bow as an acknowledgement, "and I can only hope the news is good, Spectre?"

"But of course. Our hold on the northern Mirkilains is complete all the way through to the lowlands that spread into the southern regions. We have the tactical high-ground, and the enemy is on the run."

"Who were the remnants?"

"Elves, believe it or not. Seems they were rather fond of the forested areas. Would you believe they actually teamed up with the dwarven colonies from within the mountains to try and hold us back? A feeble effort, and the organization was little to be desired. We crushed them thoroughly."

Armageddon chuckled softly and nodded, continuing his walk and motioning the scout to follow alongside. "Good, good. I assure you, Thakisis is pleased. She has looked favorably upon you, as have I, ever since you showed your allegiance to your bloodline and helped avenge Vertigo's death. I do not exaggerate when I say that I look upon you as a brother, Spectre."

Spectre chuckled softly and nodded. "It is duly noted M'lord. So, what would you have me do next?"

"Remain here, I will send one of the others to relay the reason for your not returning to the rest of your wing. I may have some more pressing business appear, and I would appreciate having a truly trustworthy friend around to confide in should the need arise." Armageddon glanced up and smirked. "There is a full moon tonight, and Nuitari is lighting up the valley wonderfully."

He crossed the threshold from the cloister out into the valley itself. The Valle d'Morte, filled with the twisted and petrified carcasses of a forest that would never return to life. With the smoke blocking out the sunlight, and the only true light coming from Nuitari, the desolate landscape was all too fitting for the Dragonlord. Ages ago, when he had first laid waste to this part of the world, he had claimed the valley, which was more like a deep scar in the earth's layout, as his own, and the Citadel had been constructed as his lair.

"The others that I fought with before, the ones that killed my own blood, never understood what the light of Nuitari meant to me. They spoke of it as evil, dark, and something that should be feared."

"Respect is the only thing that Thakisis and her followers, as well as gifts, deserve outside of loyalty, Spectre. Your former companions were taught this shortly before they were dispatched. Soon, the rest of this land, and the lands beyond, will learn what happens to those who disrespect our Queen. But that is in the unforeseeable future. Until then, we think ahead to tomorrow. Go, get rest, have one of the dragonkeepers see to it that you are fed well, and given a warm spot to sleep."

Spectre nodded and offered a parting salute before slinking away, black scales soon hiding him in the shadows. Armageddon watched him for a moment and then sighed. Spectre was loyal, and trustworthy, though at times subject to fits of chaotic thought and behavior. It was nothing truly troublesome, but a bit of a challenge to work with at certain times. Still, over the years since the wars began, he had started to show quite a bit of improvement.

Turning his gaze from where the other dragon had departed, the Dragonlord glanced back out at the valley to take things in. The sounds of a war machine turning were all around. Siege workshops pounding joints and axels into place for various siege equipment, the parade grounds were always filled with drilling regiments and the sorts, units preparing for deployment to the front lines where they would relieve some of the more battle-weary regiments already in theater. It was a war machine –his war machine- and one to be proud of indeed.

He found a good perch nearby to watch the ongoing drills, basking in Nuitari's moonlight. His war machine had overrun the northern Mirkilains, and would easily take the southern soon enough. The dream that filled his nights was becoming a reality, and all he could do was smile and thank Thakisis for helping him realize his purpose in life, and how best to serve his Queen.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

The smell of fire carried all too well on the wind, and ash was coming from the sky like rain. All remnants of what used to be a large and beautiful forest, the Northern Mirkilains, was now in ruin and littering the flatlands. The mountains to the north were crested with sporadic wildfires that, at night, cast a crimson glow across the peaks, and smoke choked the sun during the day. The sounds of the enemy digging in, fortifying their position, was a constant demoralizer for the meager army entrenched in the glades below.

Jim VonBurace, a General in the Order of the Dragons of Light, was hunkered down in one of the trenches that made up his army's little defensive network. He was nothing impressive at a glance, standing at an overall average height, blue eyes, and brown hair. Still, his poise set him apart in a crowd. Even in the midst of the mud, ash, and impending doom, the armor he wore was still as clean as the day it was given to him. A standard light-weight plate that bore the insignia of a spread-winged dragon on its breast, coupled with a sign of his rank in the fashion of gold inset within the dragon's eyes.

His army, the twenty-third regiment, was currently busy shoring up defenses and building a small fort with nothing more than dirt and shovels. It was a hastily drawn together plan, one that would hopefully work long enough for other objectives to be accomplished, but nothing permanent by any means at all. To the north lay, in waiting, a force that could easily annihilate the five-hundred knights under his command, while to his south were the retreating elves and dwarves that had once claimed the woodland mountains as their homes.

The plan had been born on the spur of the moment. A scout had noticed the retreating and beleaguered refugees fleeing, and after an initial report of the forces he would walk into, Jim had decided it best to dig in and provide a buffer to buy the refugees time. A few of the elves had offered to help, as did a surprising number of the dwarves, but Jim was inclined to dismiss them, telling them it would be for the better if they stayed with their families and friends to offer defense if, and when, the buffer fell under the weight of the inevitable onslaught.

So, now he was here. A General, with five hundred of his most trusted, capable mounted knights, all stuck within the confines of a small scattering of trenches. Siege equipment had rained on them once, but they were still fairly out of range and, other than a few scrapes, no casualties were reported.

"Alan!" Jim turned away from the mountain and dropped into the 'walkway' which was dug deeper into the trench. "Alan, where the blazes are you?"

"Down here, Sir!"

Jim sighed softly. Some of the more skilled of the knights had actually dug rooms into the trenches, places to sleep, eat, get out of the constant raining ash and smoke, and even to get some gambling in. This was almost always the case with his second-in-command. Alan could, and had proven such, that he could even gamble his way out of a beheading.

"Alan," Jim paused and glanced about the room to see who else was present. Three of the four were some of the junior officers, company commanders and the sorts, the eyes set in their dragons were all red. The fourth person in the room, though, had silver as his designator. Taller, and a bit more of a 'legend' looking man with blonde hair and green eyes, but he always looked as though he were about to start up some bit of mischief.

"Alan, I need you to find a proper relief for Curtiss on the western line, as well as Nicholas and Ryan. I'm calling all of my battalion leaders in for a conference. I want a good report of our situation, morale and otherwise."

Alan nodded and glanced down, tossing a pair of dice onto the ground. "Evens, gentlemen. I expect you'll pay me when I get back, hmm?" He chuckled, giving the others present a slight, sympathetic shrug before grabbing his helm and stepping out.

Jim chuckled softly, glancing back to the others. "So…how much did he get from you?"

"More than enough." One of the juniors stood, offered a smart salute, and stepped out. The rest followed behind.

Under normal circumstances, Jim would have frowned on gambling within his regiment, but all things said and done, he was glad that they had something to help keep their mind off things. In a time of war, any escape from reality was always a welcome one.

Stepping back out into the main trenches, he picked his way up and onto the lip that allowed the watchmen and bowmen to see without being overly exposed, looking back over at the mountain range in front of him. Somewhere up there was someone standing and looking down, doing the same thing he was. Studying, watching, trying to find flaws or weaknesses that might offer an advantage, plotting, waiting for just the right time to strike, or for the warning that a withdraw might be the better of the options available.

Only, it was the one option not open for debate. There were lives on the line, far more than just the five-hundred located within the trenches. There were cities, towns, villages, and somewhere to their rear, a group of refugees who were depending on a wall to hold its own against a flood.

He caught the smirk forming and chuckled softly to himself. He saw the weakness, the door at the end of a hallway, cracked just enough to get a foot into. It might not open fully, but there was the chance that the gamble, which was the best word for it, might just work. Besides, he had the best person to be gambling with by his side, so there was a small bit of comfort to be found there.

Glancing towards the watchman nearby, he offered a salute and grin. "Keep up the good work. We'll be finished with this soon, and then I'll buy the regiment a round at the 'Pony' when we get back."

Hopping back into the walkway, he picked his way down through the maze and towards the small dugout he called his own. Maps, all covered with scrawled notes and depictions that estimated the enemy location, were tacked to the walls with daggers for reference. One was a detail of the trench network that had been dug by his own troops. Tugging it down, he glanced over the design.

When Alan and the others showed up, Jim had a few select maps on the floor near where he was seated, all of them wearing new markings, drawings, notes, and otherwise.

Curtiss was the first to follow after Alan. A seasoned veteran of wars that, really, had no desire to rise further in rank for personal reasons. He loathed the politics involved and was known to decline honorary promotions without a second thought. It was a trait gained him quite a few enemies within the political circles.

Nicholas was the youngest of the battalion leaders. His experience in a leadership role was limited to war games and simulated situations in the training grounds. Still, he had promise, and someone saw it fit that he be assigned to the twenty-third.

For as long as Jim had served in the military, Ryan had always been under him. The two were never close friends, but they knew how to work well together, and whenever Jim had been reassigned, Ryan followed suit not too far after.

"Come in, have a seat." Jim motioned towards the ground, ignoring the few chuckles that came from the others. "Alright, firstly…how's the overall morale of the troops?"

"Tired, Sir. Not a one is thinking of running, mind you, but they're growing weary, and it doesn't take much to see what it is that's about to fall on our heads," Curtiss offered, leaning back against a wall and crossing his arms. "They need something hopeful to boost spirits."

Jim glanced up and nodded. "I see." He reached down and handed a map to each of them. "Here, look this over and tell me what you think. This…system here, that we've set up is our way out of this mess. Alan, I took a page from your books for this one."

"A gamble?"

"Precisely." Jim chuckled and stood. "Have a seat, all of you, and hear me out. We have a fair bit of supplies from the convoy we took with us, which includes lamp oil by the gallons. I want barrels of the oil spread out across the network of trenches, to every station, bend, corner, turn, room…everywhere. No one is to use it, though. Not a drop. I even want what lamps are being used doused, the oil turned back into the stores, and nothing but torches to be used for perimeter watches tonight."

Nicholas furrowed his brow. "Won't that put us at risk of being attacked?"

"Yes, but…I don't believe they will. They're biding their time and waiting for something to happen that they can see. Our position here is a strong one, even though it is not the best between ours and theirs. At night, when the light is dim and limited, I want Ryan to lead his battalion out and down to the south. You'll have to move quick, but quietly. Move around and prepare to charge in on horseback in true cavalry style when you hear the signal of three sharp blasts from the horn.

"Nicholas, at dawn, I will give them a reason to charge in and swarm our position. Your battalion will, as soon as they see the charge, fall back into a mock retreat. Have your most skilled archers prepare to fire at the signal of two long blasts, and two short blasts. We'll need fire-bearing arrows to litter this trench.

"Curtiss, I'll need you to take that lamp oil and prepare this place well. When those arrows hit, I want to see a fire like none other. Line the walkways with tinder, soak them as best you can with the oil we have. Then, shortly after Nicholas retreats, follow suit. Stagger it, though, make it look as natural as you can. I want their focus to be on the prize.

"Which leaves myself and Alan. Alan, I need you to go with Nicholas. I'll stay here and take my men, made up of volunteers, to meet the hordes head on and offer resistance, hold them in place, and make sure they're swarming this place when it burns. If all goes well, we'll have a small victory today, and weaken their numbers."

Alan had been shaking his head ever since being told to go with Nicholas, and finally cleared his throat to speak. "All due respect, General, but I'm not about to stand back in the shadows while you sit here and get yourself killed. I'll stay behind and lead the fight from here, you fall back and stay clear of the danger."

"Alan," Jim smirked faintly. "I have a strict policy that states things very clear, and very simple. I'll not ask a soul to do anything I would not. This is not a matter that is up for debate. If we can lure them in, start the charge, and let them fall into the trenches for cover, then they'll be trapped well enough for the fire to do them in while mounted cavalry keeps them penned up from the high ground. Tactical and strategic moves over brute strength and numbers."

"And if this fails," Ryan started in, "what then?"

"Alan will take all surviving elements southward to the stronghold Fort Et Gloriam and prepare to meet the oncoming war from there. If I fall, those are my final orders before passing command on to him."

There was silence in the small room for a few good long minutes as everyone contemplated the risks, benefits, and overall chance that things would work. Grasping at straw as a hay-bale fell from a wagon was more likely to come out on top, but what was the alternative they had?

"I know that it is not much, but I assure you that what is done will impact the current direction of this war. We're the twenty-third, dammit, and we know how to make the enemy hurt, even if we fall doing it." Jim stood and, hearing no objections, started for the walkways outside. "Spread the word to the men, let them know what will happen. Tell any man that if he wishes to run, he may join Nicholas' group and carry on as far as his feet may go, but that if he does run, he will leave his gear behind. In like, I'll be needing seventy volunteers to hold the ground here with me. This operation begins at nightfall."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

A heavy fog blanketed the valley, leaving anything past ten feet near invisible. Jim muttered a soft curse to himself as he surveyed the field in front of his trenches. Everything was already in place, Ryan had taken his men, under the cover of night, to get in position for the assault. A messenger had already reported they were in place and ready. Nicholas, Curtiss, and Alan were in position, the trenches already prepared, and the only thing keeping the assault from happening was the fog.

Glancing towards the men that had volunteered to stay behind, he could only offer a slight shrug in a near apologetic way. It was hard, to have thrown together a plan, dedicated manpower and resources to it, and run into a delay like this. The sun would need to burn the fog from the field, but the air was still overhead, and smoke, mingled with clouds, was keeping daylight from showing. It might as well have been nightfall.

"The lands adapt quickly to their new masters," Alan climbed up the trench wall and shook his head. "It was something one of the Generals I served in my first tour told me. Things are slow to turn good, but quick to obey the will of evil. So, you still think this plan will work?"

"No. Things are changing. We'll have to make our plan work for us in a different way. Have Nicholas pull out now, under the cover of this fog. We'll be attacked whether we like it or not."

"You're certain about this, Jim?"

"Of course. It's what I would do if I were in their position. Superior force, a chance to flank around an entrenched enemy…I'd be expecting them shortly. We'll meet them as best we can manage, call in for the mounted cavalry and sweep them. Possibly order a fallback, let them have this firetrap we're standing on."

"How does this change our situation at all, then?"

"Easy. They'll be attacking from any given side, not a full-out charge. I'd expect assassins first, sneaking around the trench system to assault watchmen, then a smaller wave of footmen, then the main assault. They're smart, especially if they've gotten this far."

"I'll tell Nicholas," Alan jumped back into the trench and started to pick his way back to where the battalions were staged.

Jim turned and glanced back at the fog, watching the wisps of mist and smoke swirl. It was an almost hypnotic effect, small vortexes and eddies in the air, all of them created by the most subtle of breezes.

A breeze on a windless day. Jim glanced skyward and saw the dark shadow streak overhead. Jumping down, he shouted to the watches nearest him to sound the alarms, then turned and started running towards the 'staging grounds'. A dragon meant that everything had changed. Tactical advantage was lost. Nicholas, Alan, Curtiss, and every last man trekking across the field would be defenseless against the onslaught headed their way.

The first blow came from siege equipment. Already targeted from the onslaught a while back, they had little trouble firing at a target blindly. It was a textbook assault, using the siege to keep the target's head down. Soon, the enemy advance would be too close to use ballistas and catapults, arrows would be the preferred replacement, and then the enemy would rush the gates.

Jim ducked as the earth over his head exploded. Dirt and rock collapsed into the trench. Behind him, he could hear a few of his men shout, metal striking metal. A horn sounded sharply across the field, signaling the end of the artillery barrage. So, there wouldn't be arrows this time. They had marched straight into the trenches.

Someone jumped into the passageway ahead of him, a sword in hand. The armor was, at a glance, different from the rest of the regiment, and Jim didn't bother to hesitate. His sword glinted faintly as it slid from the sheath to meet the intruder straight on. Before the first few blows could even be countered, though, another horn sounded. His adversary, a human wearing the dark armor of his allies, hesitated and was soon dead because of his mistake.

Jim caught his breath and glanced around, checking to make sure there was no one else that might cause a problem. The sounds of war, steel striking steel and shouts of wounded and dying, were all absent from the trenches. He could have called in the cavalry, but without knowing where the enemy was, the act was useless.

A flash through the fog caught his eye, and he remembered Alan. The dragon had followed them. Jim started running again. The smoke and ash was hanging far heavier than before. He could hear the sounds of a horse running off somewhere, the only noise that seemed to stab through the silence.

Something tripped Jim up, sending him sprawling into the oil-soaked straw that blanketed the trench floor. A quick glance told him all he needed. Nicholas. The siege bombardment had done him in. His second would have taken over, and Curtiss not far behind.

The area was, otherwise, empty. Silence still hung heavier than the fog, which was beginning to clear. Jim glanced back, just to make sure that there was no massive rush of the dark forces bearing down on his position. There was nothing, just a heavy wall of fog. He glanced forward… The fog was far less dense ahead, but the smell of ash and fire was lingering.

Stepping forward, the fog was suddenly gone. Jim found himself in a glade, charred and littered with what remained of two full battalions of his troops. The fog formed a wall that circled around the area, creating the illusion that the place was some primitive arena of death. Dragon's fire had burned it away, leaving nothing behind.

So that's why they were waiting in the mountains. A dragon. They were waiting for a dragon to come and level the opposing force, route out the entrenched thorn in their side. He had walked right into their plans, too, by sending a force out into the open, where the trenches couldn't offer some sort of protection.

The sounds of hooves caught his ear as a horse broke through the wall of fog. Jim already had his blade up, but lowered it as soon as he saw there was no rider. However, there was another detail that caught his eye soon enough, and that was the decorations on the saddle that bore the crest of his regiment. His cavalry had already been hit.

The wind stirred, fog rolling off the far wall as wings beat and stirred. The Knight turned and watched the dark shadow approach through the darkness. Gripping his sword, he waited to meet it headlong, ready to share the fate that claimed the rest of his men. The dragon burst through the fog and landed with a serpentine grace that, for a few moments, left Jim awestruck. Dark and evil though it was, the beast had a presence that was unmatched by most other creatures in the world.

The dragon lowered his gaze down on the human, a cold smirk showing. "Only human. You know that you can't win."

The fog hung heavy through the rest of the morning, on into the afternoon, save for where the trenches and twenty-third regiment had been. There, the fires burned hot from the lamp-oil that soaked the ground. Under cover of the fog, the troops of the Dark Dragon's army moved quickly, skirting the funeral pyre, but keeping close enough that they could scavenge what weapons remained from the humans, before charging onward towards the Southern Mirkilains.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Spectre made his way, rather lazily, over the mountain range and on to where his element had been stationed. News spread quickly of the utter devastation of some unknown group of knights, and of the sudden drive into the south. The embattlements at the top of the mountain range were still manned, of course, though only by a small component of construction engineers tasked to build up a solid, defendable border that could be used as a fallback.

Just in case.

Armageddon had stressed that, while resistance was unable to keep up with the speed of advance, it only meant that things would slow down, come to a stop, and perhaps even slide backwards once the masses of allied armies finally organized enough to counter attack. All of the possibilities, though, were nothing he truly needed to worry himself with. He was, after all, a scout. Armageddon would handle the details, his only true concern was to glean what information he could from anyone he chanced across, or anything he happened to see.

Dropping into the grasslands, he skirted around a low-burning fire and couldn't help but admire the devastation that he had missed. An entire regiment annihilated in one fell swoop. He would have to hear the story from Abshalom when he finally caught up to the other dragon.

Turning his gaze back to what lie ahead of him, he spied the signs of an encampment, and could smell the sulfurous smoke from the campfires. There was no mistaking his own element at all. Loud, obnoxious, disregarding any sense of stealth or concealment, but in the end no one could blame them. They were winning, the enemy was on the run, and there was little need to hide.

Grazing over the treetops of the forested areas that made up the beginning of the Southern Mirkilains, Spectre made his way towards the camp, bellowing what could have passed as a giant frog coughing and croaking at the same time. It was a means for the two dragons to identify one another, just so neither of them ended up mauling the other by mistake. Abshalom heard, and a guttural growl in response was the welcoming greeting that Spectre received shortly before setting down in the clearing.

It was an impressive sight. Already, engineers were hard at work clearing the area to prepare it to house the siege equipment, and walls were up on two sides of what appeared to be a defensible fort, all wood of course. He had to give Abshalom credit, while the other dragon did often times seem motivated by ego alone, he could still produce results. Spectre finally spied the other dragon off, lying on the ground and discussing something with a few of the battalion commanders, all human of course, as orcs were far too unstable mentally to lead.

"Abshalom," Spectre offered a faint bowing salute, "I see I missed a party."

"Ah, my trusted scout." Abshalom glanced to the others present around him and dismissed them all with a slight nod. "It was a beautiful sight. They even went so far as to build their own funeral pyre. I was impressed."

"Killed all of them, did you?"

"All save one." Abshalom stood, turning to walk away from the noise of construction. "Come, walk with me. I wish to hear how things are going back home."

Spectre nodded and fell in-step with his superior. "Things go well. The war machine is turning into a veritable juggernaut. Lord Armageddon is convinced that Queen Thakisis will keep the other gods at bay by providing us with weapons and skills that should give us the upper hand at all times."

"And of the Dragons of Light in the south?"

"No word has come regarding them yet. There is, allegedly, a mounted division of knights that works with the dragons. Could prove a threat, however they have not yet appeared."

"Most likely they are not yet ready for an attack, Spectre. The enemy is smart, they will not throw a valuable resource into harms way if there is the strong possibility that they will lose it. Still, the longer they wait, the more difficult their task becomes." Abshalom paused in a small clearing, his eyes closing as he breathed in the fresh night air.

Spectre watched him for a few moments. It was an odd sight, watching a black dragon become enthralled with a light, fresh breeze. He had, on occasion, even caught his superior gazing at the stars absently, shutting out the world around him. When confronted, of course, it was all denied.

"I left one of the Knights alive," Abshalom stated, rather suddenly.

Spectre furrowed his brow and could even feel a slight twitch in the muscles that lined his back. "Left one alive?"

"Oh yes. He was the leader of the group we demolished today. I met him, face to face, and he begged me to let him join his men in death. I politely declined. For all I know, he fell on his own sword. It was rather nice to watch him agonize over the death of his comrades."

"Could he return as a threat?"

"Hardly. He was broken on that battlefield after I was through with him. I did, of course, brand him. He'll not be harmed by our troops when they see the mark."

"You gave him the mark of Thakisis?"

"Yes, scarred and burned into his skin. He will be an exile to his own side forever, and ignored by ours. Of course, if he does manage to get himself killed by attacking somebeast or another, then I suppose he will just have gained what he wished for."

"You're growing soft, Abshalom. You should have killed him, left him to bleed to death slowly on the battlefield, not unleashed him behind our lines."

"He is not a threat, Spectre. If I perceived him to be one, I would have left one more carcass in the flames." Abshalom let his gaze leave the skies and offered a wry smirk to the scout. "If this…Knight comes back and gives us a problem, I will let you tear my own wings from my back and take the sky from me."

Spectre thought on the proposition for a few moments before nodding. While it seemed somewhat out of proportion, the bargain was just that. "We'll hope it doesn't come to that, hmm?"

Silence hovered over the two for a few moments. Abshalom went back to gazing up at the starts while Spectre just took in the surrounding area, preferring to look everywhere but at the other dragon.

"How much longer is this war going to continue before we meet the real resistance?"

Spectre turned back to Abshalom as the question was asked. "What? Oh, that much is unknown. The spies we've sent to try and infiltrate the enemy ranks have either vanished, or are unable to report. We can't confirm either."

"We're running headlong into something we can't see, in other words."

Spectre offered a reluctant shrug, turning and starting back towards the camp. "That could be one way to put it. I'm certain there's another explanation for it. Paladine would not simply hide all of his resources away when his people need them."

"The dragons of light? Pitiful creatures, really, who are most likely all in hiding. I'm sure Paladine would not forsake his people, but Paladine's creatures are another story." Abshalom let his eyes drop from the sky and down onto the still departing Spectre. "Do you know what happens to a warlord that becomes overzealous and overconfident? He falls, and the army falls with him."

Spectre chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Where one great figure falls, there is always another ready to rise and take his place. Do you honestly think Armageddon has not made a plan for that? He knows of his own mortality, and has made arrangements to deal with the issue should it arise."

"I do hope so, Spectre. But will Armageddon's own planning save the lives of those under him as well? I do sincerely doubt that."

Spectre stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "And what do you plan on doing?"

"I'll follow my leader to the depths of Hell and back if need be. I'm more curious about what the turncoat will do if that situation begins to play out."

Silence fell back over the clearing as the two dragons stared each other down. Spectre, ever judgmental and even going so far as to size up the other dragon in front of him, and Abshalom just holding a smug grin all the while. Spectre was the first to move, turning and trudging back towards the camp with a snort. Abshalom just chuckled to himself, lying down in the clearing and returning to his previous task of stargazing.


	5. Chapter 5

((Sorry it took so long to get this one up, work got busy.))

Chapter V

The fog had long since lifted, night had settled, and the moon was just ending its trek across the sky, but the first thing that Jim was aware of as he started to come to was the burning pain from his hand. It wasn't a throb, or even remotely like the battle-wounds he had accumulated over time, it felt more like his hand was being held in a fire, and he couldn't quite jerk it out to keep the pain from spreading further.

His surroundings started to fade into focus, and he realized that the field he remembered being in last was no longer where he was. A rough lean-to was sheltering him, trees filled the view outside, and though he was still lying on the ground, his armor had been removed and in its place, acting as a blanket of sorts, was a heavy black travel-cloak. His hand, when he finally looked, was wrapped professionally in a clean set of bandages. He left them on, rather than trying to see just what the cause of all the pain was. Someone had gone through the trouble, no sense in messing it all up.

The initial pain started to ebb, and Jim pushed himself up to stretch and take stock of his surroundings. His sword was nearby, propped against the main support for the lean-to, and while there were signs of a small campfire outside, he couldn't see signs of anyone else having even been in the area. Strapping on his sword, he made his way towards the campfire and started nursing it back to life.

_Only human._

The fire flared up without much in the way of warning, startling the knight and sending him falling back off-balance. Seated, he watched the flames flicker. The battlefield was lost in some hazed part of his mind. He remembered the massacre, his men dying, the fire, the pain, the dragon. Certain things, though, were lost, including his survival. The dragon should have killed him, but he was here, alive, with nothing in the way of a major injury to show for it. All he had to show for the battle was his regiment, dead.

"You act as though you've never seen fire before, Knight."

Again, the knight was startled. He reached for his blade, but the chuckle that resulted from his being on edge, rather than outright retaliation, saw that the blade never left the sheath. Jim found himself looking at a man, somewhat aged in years. Straight, wiry white hair hung down to his shoulders, tied back to keep it in place, though a few long strands hung down and partially covered ice-blue eyes. Jim hardly needed to see the black robes to know that it was a mage, nor did he need to see the seal of Thakisis that was worn as a brooch to know where the mage's allegiance lay. But still, neither he, nor the mage, lashed out at each other.

"You've finally awoken. I was wondering how long it would be, or if I'd have to leave you behind." The mage made his way to the fire and took a seat. "You are fortunate, Knight. Thakisis smiles upon you, though for reasons I cannot quite understand. You should, all said and done, be dead."

"I'm aware of that. Why am I here now, alive? You could have killed me at any time."

"Your hand, Knight, have you seen it?" The mage set about making some tea, offering a mug over to Jim, who declined. "Take it, it will ease the pain when you drink it."

Jim sighed and obliged, taking the offered mug and smelling the crushed leaves that were inside. It was, as he suspected, awful, and would probably end up being a rather bitter drink. "So, what's so special about my hand?"

"You, for reasons that again escape my comprehension, bear the mark of Thakisis. She's protecting you. Rest assured, under different circumstances, I'd have killed you by now."

"And what keeps me from killing you right now?"

The mage chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Your pitiful sense of honor, Knight. I have not threatened you, nor have I harmed you in any way. What reason, other than a symbol of my affiliation, have you to take up arms against me?"

Jim was silent for a while before he finally voiced the one thought that was hanging in his mind. "Damn you and your logic."

The mage laughed and started pouring the water for the tea into the knight's mug. "A sound conclusion, I'll give you that much. Now, drink up. It will help with the pain." He poured his own tea and took a light sip. "And, just so you do not end up using all of your witty names and insults when referring to me, you can call me Xodius."

"Interesting name, where does it come from?"

"The guild I am a part of assigned it to me. All of us carry names that are given to us, we never use our true names." Xodius took a sip of his tea and seemed to relax.

Assuming that, if it was safe for the mage, it was safe for him, Jim took a sip of the tea and blanched. It was the most bitter tasting drink he'd ever had. Setting the cup aside, he let his focus return to the black-robed mage.

"So, what happens now, Xodius?"

"Well, Knight, you are to come with me. I cannot force you, of course, though I can strongly urge that you listen to me. Otherwise, Thakisis might lose favor with you. If that happens, then I will kill you."

"You sound like you want that to happen."

Xodius offered a wry smirk. "My dear Knight, nothing pleases me more than disposing of the pitiful creatures that are a nuisance to my Queen. Now, finish your drink, take up your blade, and we'll be off. I only hope that you can manage to keep up. I've lost far too much time letting you rest, I do not plan on losing any more."

"So," Jim clasped his arms behind his back, "I'm a prisoner then?"

"Far from it, Knight," Xodius rasped. "You are a tool. As I've said, for reasons beyond my understanding, Thakisis finds favor in you. She spared your life, as she saw fit, so it may just be in your best interest to listen to her. Do as she wills, otherwise you can be just like every other useless tool out there and be cast aside to rust away.

"As far as I see it, Knight, you can follow me to the Valley where Armageddon carries out Thakisis' will. There, I am certain, all things will be made clear to you. Or, you can decide that this was nothing more than pure circumstance and be on your way. It is entirely your choice."

The mage snorted softly and gathered up his belongings, pouring the leftover tea onto the fire. A faint muttered spell doused the flames and he tugged the hood of his robes over his head as he started off northwards through the woods.

Jim watched him for a few moments, a brief glance going to his hand, then back to the mage. It was common sense, from here, where things stood. He turned his back to the mage and started to walk the other way, back towards where his own allies would be amassing a front against the onslaught of the enemy forces.

He had gone quite a ways before a soft laugh hit his ears, and he turned, expecting to see the mage trailing him. Nothing but woodlands stood behind him, but still he could hear the familiar voice.

_Remember one thing, Knight. Fate has a way of catching up to us. The Queen is not yet through with you._

"Get out of my head, Mage," Jim snarled, gripping his blade for simple reassurance.

Minutes passed, but nothing further came from the voice. Turning, he continued on his way. He had a war to fight. Petty things such as fate could wait for another time.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

"M'lord," Spectre bowed to the dragonlord, hardly able to hide the smirk he had been wearing for the better part of a day.

"I trust you bring me good news, Brother?"

"Of course, of course. We've met minimal resistance in the southern Mirkilains. Our armies have pushed through the woodlands and are digging in. We should have our position fortified and ready for any retaliation within the next few days."

Armageddon nodded faintly in acknowledgement of the news, brief as it was. "Minimal resistance bothers me, Brother. Where are their armies? More importantly, where are our 'Cousins of the Light'? The way things are going now, you might think Paladine had forsaken them completely. I know he would never do such a thing."

"Mounted cavalry?"

"Nowhere to be seen, and they should be the first to respond to a threat like us. However, none of our scouts, none of our spies, and none of our forces have met up with any resistance bolstered by so much as one dragon. Our own are spread thin now, too, which is all the more disturbing." Armageddon sighed, turning to walk further into the catacombs that was his sanctuary.

"Perhaps they are lying in wait." Spectre hurried to catch up, falling in step with the larger beast. "Should we stay the offensive and wait for Thakisis to bolster our own numbers? Perhaps the gods know things we do not, and there are unseen factors at play here."

"Unseen factors?" Armageddon glowered at the other dragon. "The Queen would inform me if there were factors involved in this war that we are not aware of."

"Unless she has reasons for keeping them in silence, M'lord. Who are we to judge the reasons or motives of the gods?"

"And who are you to question me, Brother?" Armageddon snorted softly. "We will see when the time comes, I suppose. The Queen has told me to expect a visitor soon, someone she's instructed to come here and assist with the war. Keep your eyes open."

Spectre was hesitant to say anything, but finally managed a slight nod. "Of course. Dragon, I assume?"

"No. Mage, human no less. However, she assures me that his role in this war will be integral to our success. You will meet him, treat him accordingly as he is an ambassador."

"If you don't mind my asking, M'lord, why would she send a mage?"

"A first step in ensuring that our enemies never rise against us again. You will know more when the time comes, but until then I cannot betray too much knowledge."

The two came to a halt outside of the massive doors that led into Armageddon's own personal chambers, a place Spectre had only seen once before, and that had been prior to the dragonlord's return. Ever since Armageddon had rebuilt the facility, no one had ventured so much as a peek at the interior. Everyone, though, could feel the darkness that seemed to hang over the inner catacomb, though.

"Go meet my guest, Brother, and take time to rest. Traveling as much as you do can leave a dragon weary." Armageddon hesitated, about to say something further, but simply followed the command up with a nod before stepping into his chambers.

Spectre watched him go, the doors opening and closing of their own accord, the boom from them hitting the stops on the threshold echoing through the catacombs. He stayed, staring at the closed doors for a few moments, sorting out the torrent of thoughts that were going through his head.

No significant battles, but near half the continent had already fallen to their control. Paladine's children were nowhere to be seen. The gods had to be up to something, or knowing things the other did not, but the details were veiled from everyone, perhaps even Armageddon himself, whom Queen Thakisis usually kept well informed.

And then, there was this mage.

Spectre turned and started back towards the entry levels of the catacombs, he would most likely rest in the sanctuary that was on ground-level, it always had a welcoming feel about it. Of all the thoughts that ran through his mind, the one recurring, nagging vision came from the mention of a visiting mage. Armageddon had mentioned that he would bring the first step in ensuring the enemy was defeated soundly, but why a human mage would be entrusted to such a thing was beyond his knowing. Dragons were the chosen children of Thakisis and Paladine both, that something so key to victory for either side would be entrusted to a human was taboo; the word 'heresy' was something that could be easily assigned to the notion. Of course, he could not question Thakisis' motives without being labeled a heretic himself.

Things still failed to make sense, and with Abshalom acting the way he was back at the front, frustrations were beginning to compound upon one another. Letting a human commander of an enemy force live was one thing, but allowing him to flee rather than be taken prisoner for questioning was folly. Perhaps, though, they were all tied in somehow. The mage brought knowledge from Thakisis, knowledge that made Paladine fear for the well-being of his own children. That, in and of itself, would make sense, but then Abshalom and the human Knight were nowhere in there. Loose threads at best, and Spectre dismissed the thought entirely. Paladine, a god, would never fear a human. Moreover, no dragon, dark or light, would fear a petty mage.

Spectre snorted softly, just to vent some of the frustrations, before hunting out a good, dark corner to lie down. It was time to get some rest. The mage would not be arriving any time soon, after all. No human mage had been reported in the area, and from the valley's entrance it was still a good half a day's walk just to get to the Citadel. There would be more than enough time to make accommodations ready for the guest. Until then, he would gladly take time to sleep, let dreams come, and forget about the daily nuisances that seemed so prevalent.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VII

_Jim VonBurace. Paladin. Knight for the Glory of Honor. Forsaken…_

Jim was in the forest, but it was far from where he remembered being the day before. The Mirkilains were lush, rich, green. This was desolate, pale, dead. A thick mist blanketed everything, while a dark and overcast sky blotted out the sun. The trees were bent, gnarled, twisted and bare, the wood petrified. The smell of death was everywhere.

_I know you can hear me, Knight. Answer my call._

The voice. It had plagued him ever since parting ways with the mage. A low, rumbling bellow that spoke to his mind and invaded his thoughts. He had tried to block it at first, ignore the whispers, but they grew stronger as time passed. Now, they were far from the soft-spoken thoughts they had once been, almost as though another presence had entered his mind.

A shadow. Something moving in the mist caught his eye, the rough form of a man, though the shape was off. There was something terribly different. Claws where hands should have been, fangs and a snout where there should have been a normal head, form mostly covered by some leathery cloak. He had heard stories of these demons. They were the death of people.

"Who are you," Jim demanded, a hand reaching for where his sword should have been, only to find air.

_Nothing more than a dream, Knight._

The figure remained cloaked in the mist, the shadow circling around with a ghost-like smoothness to its movements. A clawed hand reached out, beckoning the Knight closer.

_Your hand. You bear the mark we've been waiting for, you know._

Jim looked down at his hand, suddenly aware of a sharp burning that radiated from it. The bandages were bled through, the stains resembling the Mark of Thakisis, the dragon with seven heads. He snorted and ignored the pain, glaring back at the shadowy figure.

"What do you want, demon?"

_Demon? Your words are far too harsh, Human. I am nothing like demons and their ilk. As for what I want, that is rather simple. Creation._

"Creation?"

_Our Queen told us you would lead to our birth here. You are the key. We've been waiting for you._

"Likes. The tools of the Queen are damned, I would never have anything to do with them. You can rot in nothingness and I will be quite fine with that."

_You will aid us, whether you like it or not, Knight. _The shadow beckoned again. _Come, see what your children will look like. See what awaits you in the future._

The mist cleared suddenly, leaving the dead forest uncloaked. The sight that awaited the Knight near made him run on the spot. A figure of clear dragon descent, but with the build of a human was smirking back at him darkly. Rich, black scales and glowing, golden eyes did nothing but bring back visions of the black dragon that had branded him on the battlefield.

The creature was clearly pleased with the effect, tail lashing idly behind him in a snake-like pattern, the bony crest on the back of its head flaring ever so slightly to match the cold smirk. The cloak was, in fact, wings draped over the shoulders in a relaxed pose.

Half-dragon, half man.

"What sorcery is this? What are you?"

_In due time, Knight, all answers will come. Behold the children of Thakisis, the very things you will help bring into this world._

"I would do no such thing." Jim glanced around for something to use as a weapon. The beast seemed real enough, it could probably bleed. "Paladine would forbid such an obscenity from ever coming to fruition."

_Paladine will help, whether he knows it or not. Your pitiful god will be a puppet and tool for the Queen. Those who support him will be slaughtered after he forsakes the Kingdom that follows his teachings._

Finding nothing in the way of a weapon, Jim tried to gather his chances in unarmed combat. The most likely outcome was less than desirable, but he found himself clenching a fist all the same. Honor was life, and this hideous creature was the sort of evil he had sworn to destroy.

_You make me laugh, Knight. I am nothing more than a vision of things to come. You and I will never meet, not until the day you die. You can assault me now, but you will find nothing more than air in my place. The Queen wanted me to see you, to meet you face to face. She chose you, Knight. You are her puppet now, fate will handle the rest. All I ask is that, when the time comes, you do not resist. Let the flow of life take over, let the fates do their work well. The more you resist, the more painful the outcome will be._

Jim shook his head to clear it. A dream, that's all it was. Just a dream. If he ignored it, tried to focus away from it, then everything would fade away and the hellspawn would be gone from his sight.

_Ah. Stubborn Knight, when will you learn that your own destiny cannot be ignored? Very well, then. If that is how it is to be, I will see you when the fates decide your time is through. Until then, continue to serve my Queen well, and your death will be quick and painless._

Darkness fell, Jim found himself surrounded by nothingness. The mist was gone, the forest gone, and in its place a black void that seemed to press in on all sides. The weight was enough to suffocate and leave him panting for air. Dropping to one knee, he tried to loosen up his clothing so that it was less restrictive around his throat, hoping that might help. Nothing seemed to be working, the invisible hands continued to press in, choking the air from him.

He awoke in the forest, the sun already risen and well into its morning arc. Sweat-soaked from the nightmare, he rubbed at his bandaged hand. The wound burned under the bandaging, which was in need of replacement. That would need to wait, though, his supply had run out. A hand trailed down to his sword, feeling the hilt just to ensure that it was still by his side. It was a reassuring weight to carry, and he felt far from vulnerable now that it was in his control again.

The nightmares had been constant, something that only worsened the closer he got to his goal. Fires burned on the horizon, and he was certain that the Southern Mirkilains were falling quickly under the onslaught. There was an outpost nearby, one he had been trying to reach, where he could rest and send out messages. That was still a good day to the south, though. No smoke could be seen that way, which was a good thing. If he pushed hard, he could get there well before the advancing army.

He reached up and rubbed at his throat. The first nightmares had been nothing more than shadows and voices. Recently, they had begun to appear more real. The details, the memories, they were all so vivid in his mind that he couldn't brush them aside and forget them like he did most other dreams. Even now, his throat was sore, he could feel where something like fingers had closed in to strangle him. It was a cruel sort of torture, one he could only think to blame the mage and dragon for. The branding along with whatever curse the damnable mage cast on him.

Smothering the last few embers of a fire, he carried on his trek, the visage of the dragon-person still fresh in his mind. Something he would help create? The Knight forced a laugh, mostly to calm his own nerves. The beasts of the dark Queen would he slain by his hand, or he would die trying. Never would he bend to her will or assist in bringing about her goals. Paladine would be on his side, protect him from her.

An instinctive glance skyward coupled with an unspoken prayer, for good measure. He would need to visit the temple, and the clerics, as soon as he could. Their blessings would clear whatever curse the mage, Xodius, had placed on him. Perhaps they could even heal the wound the dragon had given him, which still bled as though it were fresh.

The Knight crossed himself and focused on the goal at hand. The fort was a day's trek, and he needed to get there well before the day was over. It was a long, tiring trip so far, and the end was too near to slacken the pace.


End file.
